


Silent Sentinels

by wildflowersoul



Series: Silent Sentinels [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Historical, Cunnilingus, F/F, Female Bucky Barnes, Female Steve Rogers, Genderswap, Lesbian Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 08:44:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7215550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildflowersoul/pseuds/wildflowersoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I couldn't get the idea out of my head that Steve Rogers would have made a great suffragette, in other circumstances. So, it's 1917. Eve Rogers and Jane "Bucky" Barnes go to Washington to join the National Woman's Party picket line.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silent Sentinels

_Forward Out of Darkness, Leave Behind the Night, Forward Out of Error, Forward Into Light_

_-National Woman’s Party_

_August, 1917_

Bucky leaned out of the window, one hand braced on the sill, and pulled the clothesline toward herself. She dropped each clothespin into a tin bucket by her feet, and tucked the linen shirts and wool skirts under her chin. The fabric was stiff from drying in the sun. “I _agree_ with you, Eve. I just don’t see how we can scrape the money together to go to Washington.” She snapped a shirt smartly to whip out its wrinkles. 

“I have two train tickets.” Eve lifted her chin. “Alice gave them to me, said my work on the these was payment enough.” She nodded at the stack of pamphlets on the table. _Votes for Women_ , the top sheet announced boldly. “Spent the better part of a month designing all of these. C’mon, Buck, when will we ever have the chance to leave New York again? This rally is what we’ve been working toward for so long. Wilson can’t pretend we don’t exist when we’re standing outside the White House.” Her blue eyes shone defiantly. She smacked a thin hand on the pamphlets. “I want to be there when he realizes we won’t go meekly back to our kitchens.” 

Bucky sighed. She wasn’t going to win this argument, and she wasn’t strong enough to deny Eve Rogers a single thing she wanted. “All that smoke on the train. It’ll have you coughing the whole way down.” She tucked a wisp of hair under a pin. “Washington in the summer. It’s a swamp, you know. You might not make it out of bed a single day we’re down there.” 

“I’ll be fine,” Eve said mutinously. “Summer’s better for my lungs, anyway.” 

“We’ll have to pack food. I’ll go to the shop in the morning and get some cheese. I’m sure I can spring a couple of apples from Callaghan for a wink. ‘Long as he doesn’t know we’re agitating to vote.” Bucky took the small pile of folded garments and placed them in her worn carpet bag. 

“Oh, Buck!” Eve jumped up from her seat. Her blonde hair was gathered into a loose chignon at the top of her head and half of it escaped to spill over her shoulders. “It will be the grandest adventure! You’ll see.” She was incandescent. Tiny, frail, and on fire from within with the brightest light Bucky’d ever seen. It hurt to look at Eve Rogers, and Bucky was regularly caught breathless with the sweetest pain. 

“There’s just one thing I want before we leave.” Bucky looked meaningfully at Eve. 

Eve flushed pinker than the sun setting beyond the Brooklyn house tops. “Buck,” she whispered. 

Bucky threw her head back and laughed, full throated and alive. “Not that.” She laid a hand on Eve’s waist, pulling the smaller woman closer. Eve pushed her bottom lip out in a pout. “Not just yet anyway, you know we gotta wait until dark.” She tugged Eve over to the sewing basket and handed her the shears. “I want you to cut my hair. Short, like we talked about.” 

Eve took the job seriously. She pushed Bucky down onto their shabby sofa and stood over her, calculating before moving in with the shears. She snipped in silence, until she was satisfied. The shears made soft _snick snick snick_ sounds as Bucky’s brown hair fell in clumps to the floor. Finally, Eve stopped and turned Bucky around to examine her work. 

“You’re the spitting image of Irene Castle!” Eve gasped. She dropped the shears into the sewing basket and clapped her hands. 

Bucky put a hand to her hair. It was shorn to just below her ears, she could feel the ends curling up. “Well.” She allowed herself a smile. “If you say so.” 

Eve dropped to her knees, brought her face close to Bucky’s. “I say so. ‘Scept you’re prettier.” The tips of their noses touched. Eve’s eyelashes fluttered closed. She was fearless, just leaned in like it was nothing, like it didn’t make her heart skitter like a mouse cornered by a cat. “It’s almost dark,” she whispered. 

_________________________

The sight of Eve, her face glowing with trust, her shirt unbuttoned and half falling off her small chest, shot desire hot through Bucky. It made her feet tingle, the rush so heady she could faint. 

“‘M cold, Buck.” 

“It’s gotta be a hundred degrees out.” Bucky walked slowly over to the bed, shedding her blouse and skirt as she went. She pulled on the string holding her drawers up. 

“Keep them on,” Eve said, so quietly Bucky thought maybe she’d imagined it. Bucky raised her eyebrows and smiled. 

Bucky kept her eyes on Eve as she eased beside her into the bed. Eve slid over to make room. Her right nipple was a hard peak, pink and exposed. Bucky held her breath as she pushed the shirt off Eve’s shoulders. Goosebumps popped up along Eve’s arms and she shivered. Bucky rubbed her hands along Eve’s arms, then brushed them over her shoulders and down onto the swells of Eve’s breasts. Eve gasped and pushed up into Bucky’s hands.

“So greedy for it,” Bucky whispered, plucking at her nipples until Eve mewled with need. Bucky bent and pressed her lips to Eve’s, licked her full lower lip until it was blushed pink like the rest of her neediest places. 

“God, Buck, c’mon.” Eve panted into her mouth. Eve wiggled down the bed a little to reach Bucky’s drawers. She pinched at the thin material and traced a finger slowly up Bucky’s thigh. She reached the spot where the legs of the drawers separated, leaving a space open and empty right where she wanted to be. Eve looked up at Bucky with a wicked grin. She inched her fingers closer to Bucky, just barely not touching. Bucky’s breath hitched. She could jerk her hips to force the contact she desperately wanted, but she loved the gleam in Eve’s eyes while she made Bucky writhe with unsated need. 

“You want me to touch you?” Eve asked innocently. Her fingers curled, a whisper brushing Bucky’s damp curls. 

Heat coiled low in Bucky’s stomach, she could barely breathe. Her legs spread open, wide and wanton. “Touch me,” she whined, twisting a hand in Eve’s hair. “Damn it, Eve, touch me.” 

“Bossy,” Eve muttered as she stroked a slow, gentle finger along Bucky’s outer folds. She dipped in and groaned. “So hot and wet for me. Good,” she murmured. 

Bucky moaned and writhed under her fingers. Eve finally, _finally_ , touched her clit and Bucky’s entire body spasmed with pleasure. Eve rubbed hard and fast, the way Bucky liked it, and kissed Bucky’s breast while Bucky swore and shook. 

“Eve, I can’t, I can’t,” Bucky panted, barely coherent. “So good, baby, so good.” Her entire body was on fire, every muscle clenching and building, Eve’s fingers still working. 

“Come on, Buck, you can do it. Let go for me. That’s my sweet girl.” Eve looked all fragile and innocent with her big blue eyes and cornsilk hair, but when she had Bucky spread under her hands, taking her apart, Bucky felt like Eve was three times her size, a goddess holding the world in her palms. And the mouth on her. Jesus. Bucky could weep from the memories of the filthy things Eve whispered in their bed. 

Bucky groaned wordlessly as her orgasm pounded and pulsed through her. Eve smoothed Bucky’s newly shorn hair, murmuring nonsense endearments, as she shivered and came down. 

“Your turn,” Bucky promised with a lazy smile once her limbs could move again. She rolled on top of the smaller woman, bracing her hands on the thin mattress. She kissed a line from Eve’s too-prominent ribs to her bellybutton, making her squirm and giggle. “Can’t take it, Rogers?” she asked, lips pressing to Eve’s hipbone. 

“I can do this all day,” Eve huffed, bucking her hips a little as Bucky’s mouth teased lower. 

Bucky touched the tip of her tongue to Eve’s slit. She looked up through her lashes, when Eve really got going she grasped at her hair and stuffed a hand in her mouth in a futile attempt to contain herself. 

“Ahhh, Buck, please.” 

Bucky sucked on her clit, rolled her tongue over it, slowly bringing her to the edge. Eve’s hands went to her hair, she whimpered softly. Bucky licked a finger and slid it inside, groaning into Eve as she sank into her, so tight and hot. Eve’s groans were muffled, her knuckles jammed between her teeth. Bucky splayed a hand on her belly, gave Eve everything she had, loved the way she could do this, it felt like magic. Eve groaned like her heart was being destroyed and came, clenching around Bucky’s finger. Bucky kissed her mound and looked up to watch Eve’s skin fade from a red blush back to porcelain. 

“C’mere,” Eve murmured, scooting forward to make room for Bucky to curl up behind her. Bucky fit her body to Eve’s like a puzzle piece, rested an arm protectively around Eve’s body. 

“Get some sleep, it’ll be a long train ride tomorrow.” Bucky smoothed blonde hairs away from her face. 

“I’m so happy, Buck.” Eve drifted to sleep with a contented smile on her face. 

_______________

Bucky was right about the coal dust and smoke on the train; Eve kept a handkerchief pressed to her face for most of the journey to Washington. The flimsy protection didn’t keep Eve from racking coughs, which subsided temporarily when she drifted into fitful sleep. Bucky was shaking from nerves when they finally disembarked in Union Station. She clutched their valise in one hand and the crook of Eve’s elbow in the other and scanned the crowd. 

A woman with cherubic cheeks and curly brown hair stood halfway down the platform. She held a sign that read “Rogers / Barnes.” Eve brightened at the sight and tugged Bucky forward. 

“Miss Branham?” Eve asked the woman. The woman nodded with a smile. “I’ve heard so much about you from Alice. I’m Eve Rogers, and this here’s my friend Jane Barnes.” She stuck out her hand. 

“Miss Rogers, Miss Barnes, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Alice wrote quite highly of your passion, Miss Rogers. The National Woman’s Party can certainly use that energy.” Lucy Branham grasped both of their hands warmly. She took in Eve’s wan appearance. “Now, let’s get you settled. You are welcome in my home for the duration of your stay.” 

_____________

Lucy Branham’s house was a mansion, like the kind Bucky’d seen bordering Central Park on the rare occasions she’d ventured into Manhattan. She almost stopped breathing when the motorcar drew up to the door and several household staff stood outside awaiting their arrival. She looked at Eve, who returned the look with eyes as round as saucers. 

“Mary will show you to your rooms. I do hope you will find your stay comfortable,” Lucy said as her driver handed her down from the step of the motorcar. He helped Eve down, and offered his hand to Bucky. She grasped the sides of the vehicle and hopped down without help, still holding their battered valise. 

Bucky and Eve were given rooms next door to each other on the second floor. “Dinner bell rings at 8:00,” Mary said before ducking out the door. Bucky dropped the valise in the middle of the floor and whistled as she took in the opulence. The bed was a genuine four poster, piled high with creamy white pillows and blankets. A table with a small mirror and silver hairbrush was positioned to catch the morning light near the window. The window itself was large and polished clean, with red and black damask curtains. 

Eve rushed into the room and flung her arms around Bucky. “I feel like a princess!” she whispered, straining on tiptoes to get close to Bucky’s ear. 

Bucky gave her a squeeze and stepped out of her embrace. “I feel like I stumbled onto another planet.” She touched a fingertip to Eve’s nose. “No touching. There are maids and—and… footmen? Everywhere. Are they actual footmen, like in stories? Are you Cinderella?” She wiped a smudge of train soot from Eve’s chin. “Will you turn into a pumpkin at midnight?” she teased. 

“You’ll find out when I sneak in here at midnight.” She scrunched her nose. “I’ll miss you in bed.” 

Bucky’s heart thudded. One simple sentence sent blood rushing south. “We can’t. I’ll miss you, too,” she added, at Eve’s moue of disappointment. 

________________

The night passed in a tangle of sweaty sheets. Washington was more oppressively humid than New York, and even with the windows thrown wide open, there was no breeze to stir the air. The bed was the most luxurious Bucky had ever experienced, but she was used to her own thin mattress with its familiar bumps in the shape of her and Eve’s bodies. She heard Eve’s wracking coughs through the wall all night and clutched the sheets, willing herself to stay in her own room. 

The breakfast bell rang at 8:45. “Good morning, Miss Barnes.” Eve lingered in the doorway, looking pink-cheeked and ethereal in a narrow cut white dress. Bucky could see the line where she’d lifted the hem, and the stitches where she’d patched a hole at the elbow. “Will you accompany me to breakfast?” She grinned, her blue eyes light with laughter. 

“It would be my pleasure, darling,” Bucky drawled. 

The breakfast table was laid out with a cold pitcher of milk, a new tin box of cornflakes, and a bowl of sliced pears. The butler, a lanky man with sandy blond hair, served coffee in delicate porcelain cups. 

Lucy bustled in, a bright smile lighting her face. She wore a simple blue dress with a wide, pointed collar. “Miss Rogers, Miss Barnes, what a pleasure. I hope your night was comfortable?” She sat down while the butler prepared a bowl of cornflakes and set it gently in front of her. 

“Yes, quite comfortable, thank you,” Eve replied, looking every inch a proper lady. 

Bucky speared a pear slice with what may have been a fish fork or salad fork. There was an unnecessary array of silverware laid out for a breakfast of cereal and fruit. She nodded in agreement, enjoying the juicy burst of fruit in her mouth, but schooled her features primly, lest Lucy think that fresh pears were a luxury the girls from Brooklyn rarely experienced. 

Eve maintained a genteel patter through breakfast. She and Lucy tripped over each others’ sentences, with “did you read...” and “an article in…” starting most thoughts. Bucky read most of the articles Eve left lying around the kitchen table, and she was plenty interested in politics and social issues, but she let the two women lob ideas back and forth, content to watch Eve flushed and impassioned. She knew she’d never tire of the way Eve’s blue eyes sparked with conviction, the way Eve went after what she believed was right like a dog with a bone. Eve Rogers was the most awake and alive person she’d ever met, and Bucky loved her so hard it often stole her breath away. Eve paused partway through a rousing statement about labor unions and looked over at Bucky. She gave a small, private smile, and Bucky felt lighter than air.

_________________

On Pennsylvania Avenue there was a thrill of rough energy in the air, passers-by and police slinging curses and insults at the women as they walked in a line to the fence in front of the White House. Bucky tightened her hands around her sign and stared fixedly in front of her, watching the daring tilt of Eve’s head as the other woman was visibly itching to retort against the rudeness. 

Lucy Branham’s sign read _Mr. President how long must women wait for liberty_.

Watching the narrowed eyes and curled fists of the men in front of them, Bucky wondered why they had to be among the women standing front and center of this movement. Surely there were useful occupations they could find in the relative safety of their tenement in Brooklyn. Guilt twisted in her heart at the traitorous thoughts; Eve never questioned the need for them to take bold action. She had to admit, though, Bucky would not be standing in front of the White House taunting President Wilson if it weren’t for Eve’s sense of righteousness overwhelming their sense of self-preservation. 

The day passed more or less as expected, with aching feet and hands that grew callused from holding the heavy sign for hours on end. A scuffle broke out further down the picket line. Bucky strained forward to see as rough voices called, “Drop the signs! On your knees!” Police were manhandling an older woman with wire rimmed glasses, shoving her to the ground. They moved down the line with brutal efficiency. 

Bucky’s heart thumped, her vision blacked out at the edges momentarily. “Don’t do anything reckless,” she said fiercely into Eve’s ear. 

Eve gave her a consternated look. “On what charges?” she demanded of the officer who was a few places down from them in line. 

He turned hard, deep-set eyes on her and smiled wickedly. He was missing a front tooth. “Obstructing traffic,” he snarled, stepping forward and twisting Eve’s wrist to pin her arm behind her back. She gasped at the pain. White hot rage burned in Bucky’s limbs. 

“Let her go!” Bucky flung down her sign and stepped toward the officer with a murderous glint in her eyes. 

“Oh, you’re coming too, all you broads are under arrest.” He gave Bucky a slow once over, eyes lingering on her breasts and hips. “Can probably find a more comfortable place for you to spend the night.” He licked his lips with a tongue that looked like an undercooked slab of meat. 

Eve was chalk white but didn’t make a sound as the man led her, arm still pinned behind her back, to the other officers who were latching manacles onto the women. Bucky followed as close to Eve as she could, her heart hammering in her throat. She offered her hands silently, sick on the bile rising insider her. Eve turned her head and gave her a weak smile, meant to be reassuring. Bucky raked her eyes over the smaller woman, cataloging the bruises and puffy redness that probably meant her wrist was sprained. 

______________

The prison was dank and barely lit by a few gas lights dotting the hallways at uneven intervals. A bored policeman shoved Bucky and Eve into a cell with four other women. He removed their heavy iron manacles before locking them in. 

Eve sat on the floor, curled around herself, hugging her knees. She was wheezing quietly. Bucky tucked her skirt up and sat heavily next to Eve, enveloping her with her arms. 

“We certainly made an impression,” Eve said between asthmatic breaths. 

Bucky rubbed her back. “Slow breaths, in and out.” 

The cell had two dirty pails: one held stagnant water for the women to share, and god only knew how long it had been there; the other for unmentionables—that was at least empty upon their arrival. 

A woman in the cell across from theirs called out to the policemen. Her hands were chained above her head, and she looked half starved. Her face was familiar—Bucky searched her mind to try to recall where she’d seen the woman before, but came up blank. 

“That’s Lucy Burns.” Eve’s breathing had evened out, but her words still came out in a hoarse whisper. “I heard she’s been in jail for a month.” 

“A month?” Bucky’s heart plummeted. Eve would never survive a month in these conditions. “They can’t keep us here for a month. We didn’t do anything wrong!” Panic clutched her tight. “We didn’t do anything wrong!” she shouted into the hallway. 

“Keep it down,” one of the women in her cell hissed at her. “We don’t need more trouble.” 

__________________

Lucy Burns was on a hunger strike. No matter that it wouldn’t actually _do_ anything to further their cause, Bucky thought miserably. So of course Eve and the other women in their cell went on hunger strike, and Bucky wasn’t going to choke down insect infested gruel alone. 

There was nothing to do but sit with their own thoughts, and Bucky’s thoughts were driving her mad. Eve’s bones were visible through her almost translucent skin, her hair hung lank around her face. “You’re going to kill yourself,” Bucky whispered against Eve’s collarbone. “And I’ll follow you. I’d rather die than see you like this.” Her voice was agonized. “You have to _eat_. No one out there knows what we’re doing, it’s not accomplishing anything. You think a bunch of women starving to death is going to convince anyone that we’re reasonable creatures who deserve to vote?” 

Eve rested her head against Bucky’s chest. “It’s about being right, Buck. When people know how mistreated we’ve been, it will spark outrage. It has to. We haven’t done anything wrong.” 

“We haven’t done anything wrong,” Bucky scoffed. “That doesn’t make a lick of difference, not to President Wilson, not to anyone.” She threaded her fingers through blonde hair, braiding it loosely. Eve’s neck was slick with sweat. 

An officer appeared in front of their cell. “Barnes!” he barked. 

Bucky looked up. “Yes?” 

He rattled a ring of keys, shaking them until one separated from the rest. “Bail’s been posted.” He opened the door to the cell. 

Bucky sat, stunned. “By whom?” 

The officer grunted. “Let’s go.” 

“No. Not without my friend.” She angled her head at Eve. “She’s sick, she needs medical care.” 

Eve pushed away. “Go. I’ll be fine. They can’t hold us here forever. Tell people what’s happening in here.” She pulled on the end of her braid, giving Bucky as defiant a look as she could muster. 

“Not without you.” Bucky sat, immobile. She could out-stubborn Eve Rogers when she put her mind to it. 

“For Christ’s sake,” the officer muttered, closing and locking the cell door. “Starve yourselves to death for all I care,” he mumbled as he walked away. 

Minutes later, a tall, slim woman scurried down the hall to their cell. “Jane Barnes?” she asked, peering into the dim cell. 

Bucky stood up, swaying a little as blood rushed from her head. “Who wants to know?” She didn’t recognize the woman, though there was a hint of familiarity in the set of her shoulders and the cocky tilt of her head. 

“Your cousin, Djuna.” The woman sucked a drag on her cigarette then dropped it to the floor and ground it out underfoot. She had close-cropped hair and a manner that spoke of a woman not used to taking no for an answer. 

“I’m writing a piece about the conditions for women in the pokey for the New Yorker. My editor needs a draft tomorrow. Lucky you.” Her eyes traveled over Bucky’s dirty clothes and bruised skin. “I saw your name on the arrest log. Jane Buchanan Barnes, not a common name. Your mother’s Winifred?” 

Bucky nodded, grudgingly. She’d never known any cousins, though her father’s side of the family had always been shrouded in mystery. She supposed they’d last seen each other at his funeral, if that, but she had been two when her pa died. This woman looked like she’d emerged fully grown from a chrysalis of New York grit and sophistication. “I’m not leaving. Not without my friend.” She inclined her head to indicate Eve. 

Djuna pursed her lips as she looked at Eve. She raised an elegant eyebrow. “I don’t have the scratch to post bail for her, too. Looks like she won’t make it a week longer anyway, not worth the investment.” 

Bucky moved on pure instinct. Her hand slipped through the cell bars and punched the woman in the gut, hard. She pulled back, arms shaking, adrenaline flooding her system. “Don’t you dare say that,” she said fiercely. 

“No denying you’re a Barnes,” Djuna rasped as she straightened up, rubbing her stomach. She looked back to Eve, who sat on the floor with her back straight and face defiant. “What if I can get her transferred to a hospital? Bastards don’t want any of you to actually croak. Might elevate the cause in public discourse.” 

“I don’t need a hospital.” Eve’s stubborn voice sounded behind her. “But I’ll go, if it means you’ll leave while you have a shot.” 

Bucky turned around, swallowing down the lump in her throat. The thought of leaving without Eve, even knowing she’d be getting the medical care she desperately needed, wrung Bucky’s guts into knots. As Eve sat there on the hard-packed dirt floor, a fly circled lazily around her head and landed on her shoulder. She was thinner than Bucky’d ever seen her, and it was a damn miracle she hadn’t developed pneumonia or dysentery or any one of the many diseases that seemed to haunt the air around her, waiting for a chance to sink into her bones. Eve’s blue eyes met hers, strong and brave. 

“Ok, I’ll go. So long as Eve is taken to the hospital before I leave. I need to know she’ll be ok.” Bucky watched her cousin, waiting for any sign that she may not keep her word. 

Djuna fished in her tiny handbag and pulled out a tube of lipstick. She slicked her lips crimson, sucked her index finger with an exaggerated smack to keep the red off her teeth, and smiled wolfishly at Bucky. “Duck soup, darling. Give me five.” She strode down the hallway with purpose.

Bucky knelt on the floor in front of Eve, taking her hands. “I’ll come for you. Tomorrow, to find out how long they expect you to stay. Promise me you’ll eat and rest?” 

Eve leaned forward to press her forehead to Bucky’s. “I promise.” Her hands trembled in Bucky’s. “Thank you.” 

Bucky pulled back just enough to let her eyes roam over Eve’s face—the high planes of her cheekbones, the line of her nose, the soft fullness of her lips—recommitting every feature to memory. Eve looked just as desperate as Bucky felt. Her lips parted just a little, and Bucky wanted so badly to taste her one more time, to chase away the sickness and fear with love. She touched her thumb to Eve’s lips, pushing gently. Eve darted the tip of her tongue out, quick as a snake. Bucky smiled at that, feeling the tingle zing up the nerves in her arm. 

“We’ll be back on the train to New York in no time,” Bucky said confidently. “Mrs. O’Leary will come stomping up the stairs demanding the rent.” 

Eve giggled. “She’ll be spitting nails mad, but then you’ll look at her with those big gray eyes all innocent-” 

“And you’ll sit her down for a piece of apple pie,” Bucky interrupted, smiling back. 

“A _ch, loves, just mind that you aren’t late again next month_ , she’ll say.” Eve did a spectacular impression of their landlady, a formidable Irish woman who had scared the daylights out of them, but was as soft-hearted as Eve once they got to know her. 

Bucky pulled Eve in and kissed her forehead, warm and fast. 

Djuna’s heels clacked briskly down the hallway, followed by the unhurried shuffle of a policeman running his keys along the cell bars as he went. 

“Barnes. Rogers,” the man drawled, unlocking the cell door. 

Bucky held a hand out to Eve to help her up. Her hand hung useless in the air as Eve slowly, stubbornly, hauled herself to her feet. Eve looked so small and frail, like she could shatter into pieces if the wind blew too hard. Bucky nudged her forward to go first. The policeman took Eve by the elbow, not gently, and Bucky bit her lip until she tasted blood to keep from interfering. 

Djuna watched them, her eyes lit up with a strange burning as she looked between the two women and saw, really _saw_ them and what they were to each other. Most people were blind to it, all the better, all the safer for them. Her cousin cocked an eyebrow at Bucky and walked with her down the hall, an impudent grin playing around the corners of her mouth. 

They walked out of the prison into the fierce August sun. Bucky blinked, tears involuntarily stinging her eyes. “Wait!” she called, as the officer moved to push Eve into a waiting carriage. “Where are you sending her?” Her voice sounded breathless. 

“Columbia,” the man said curtly, shoving Eve with more force than necessary into the carriage that looked like it had seen better days, and those days were probably the war between the states. 

Eve looked out through the small carriage window and raised a hand to Bucky, but the window was too dirty for Bucky to see a thing. She watched the carriage bump its way down the street until it disappeared from view. 

“Now what?” Bucky asked, fisting her hands in her filthy skirt to keep them from shaking. 

“Did you take a room somewhere?” 

Bucky shook her head. “We stayed with the Branhams when we arrived.” Was it just a week ago that they’d come to Washington? “I suppose our valise is still there.” She grimaced. “Lucy is still in there. I heard her yesterday, sounded like she was being beaten within an inch of her life.” Bucky felt a hot twist of shame at how glad she was that it was anyone but Eve on the receiving end of the brutality. 

“Well, you need clothes,” Djuna said practically. 

“And our train tickets home,” Bucky added. Home. In a few days they’d be home. It’s enough to hold on to, the thought of settling back into their comfortable routine, of being able to wrap her arms around Eve and keep her safe. 

____________

Mrs. Branham stared coldly at Bucky and Djuna as they stood at the foot of the front stairs. The bulk of the mansion loomed behind her; she reminded Bucky of Lillian Gish in that picture she and Eve had spent fifteen cents - _each_ \- to see. Bucky shrank in on herself. Her valise sat looking battered and orphaned at the woman’s feet. With a moue of distaste, Mrs. Branham stepped aside to make way for the butler, who picked up the bag and handed it down to Bucky. 

Bucky hesitated. “Lucy… she should be bailed out as soon as you can. She needs a doctor.” Bucky didn’t need to see the woman to know she must be in a bad way after what they all heard yesterday. 

Mrs. Branham sniffed. “She’ll be there until they release her, not a moment less. It’s the only way to teach girls like you a lesson. I trust this is the last we will see of you, Miss Barnes.” She turned away; the butler closed the door soundly behind them. 

______________

Djuna bought Bucky a hot meal, ten cents for a cup of soup, five for coffee served in a chipped mug. The price of the free lunch was her story: Bucky described their picket line, the arrest, their time in jail. She’d never been well-off enough to be respectable, but Bucky felt low and dirty. It was a good thing her mother, and Eve’s, too, was long dead; she couldn’t bear the disappointment of being jailed like a thief or woman of the night. 

More generous than Bucky thought she herself would be to a virtual stranger, albeit family, Djuna brought Bucky back to her own small room. It contained a bed, a lumpy chair stuffed with straw that was escaping from a worn patch, a water pitcher, and an ancient cast iron bed warmer. Bucky curled up in the chair, falling almost immediately into a deep, dream-haunted sleep. 

_____________

First thing in the morning, Bucky washed quickly with lukewarm water- it would have been cold were it not for the summer heat baking everything into warm indolence. She put on a clean skirt and shirt, both unadorned white linen and ran a finger over the thin strip of lace along the shirt buttons; Eve had sewed it on. She packed her valise and hesitated by the door. Djuna was still sound asleep, but Bucky felt rude leaving without thanking her cousin for her help. She settled for a note scribbled on the back of one of Eve’s pamphlets, dug hastily from the bottom of her bag. 

Bucky stopped the first person she saw on the street, a man sporting a boater hat and a friendly face. “Which way to Columbia Hospital?” 

He gave Bucky an appreciative look, and spoke with his eyes focused on her chest. “‘Bout ten blocks that way,” he indicated with a vague gesture. “You look like you could use some company, doll.” 

Bucky shot him a withering look. “I can get there just fine on my own, thank you,” she said icily. “And by the way,” she couldn’t help but add, irritated by his piggish eyes on her body, “it’s rude to stare at women like that. You look like a real louse, mister.” 

“Whoa, whoa. No need to read me the riot act. You political girls are pushy, not my type at all.” He addressed his protests to Bucky’s breasts, and looked her in the eye to give her a sneer before walking away. 

“”Least I know how to get to the hospital now,” Bucky muttered, stomping down the block. 

When she arrived at the hospital she asked for Eve at the front desk. 

“Eve Rogers, Eve Rogers… let’s see…” The man at the desk shuffled through a stack of papers. “No Eve Rogers here.” 

Bucky frowned. “She was taken here from the police station yesterday. Perhaps you don’t have her name written down? Do you have anything on a woman arriving under police escort?” 

The man raised his eyebrows and peered at Bucky more closely. She rubbed a hand down her simple dress, she looked respectable, if a little plain and poor. He shook his head. “I was on the desk yesterday all day, I’d’ve remembered a dame coming in from jail. Don’t get that much excitement ‘round here most days.” 

“Well, can I take a look around, see if I can find her?” Bucky’s breath was starting to constrict in her chest. “They said they were bringing her here.” She clutched the handle of her valise hard. 

“Don’t see why not. If you find her, bring her over for the paperwork. Gotta keep my records in order.” The man gave her a little shrug and turned back to his stack of papers. 

Bucky marched purposefully through the hospital, poking into every room, ignoring the doctors and orderlies who took one look at her determined face and gave her a wide berth. She finished with the first floor and ran up the creaking wooden stairs to the second, growing increasingly frantic with each room that presented disappointment. By the time she reached the fifth floor Bucky felt half crazed. She gripped each door frame as she leaned in and goggled at each hapless occupant, none of whom were Eve. Hot tears seeped out of the corners of her eyes; Bucky dashed them away with a shaking, impatient hand. She leaned against a wall and gulped a breath. “How do you lose a grown woman in one day?” she muttered to herself. 

Bucky clattered down the stairs, taking them two at a time, and stopped at the front desk again. The man looked up, eyes wary. “No luck?” 

“Where else would someone take a woman who is very ill? Is there another hospital closer to the police station?” Bucky braced her hands on the desk, looming over him. 

The man blinked. “There’s Saint E’s,” he said, hesitantly. 

“Where is it?” Bucky’s blood burned through her veins. 

“Down Alabama Avenue.” 

“How many blocks away is that?” 

He chuckled wryly. “Too many to walk.” 

Bucky’s face blanched. 

“Miss? You should sit down.” He hovered half-off his seat, his forehead creased with concern. “Miss, please.” 

“No, I’m fine,” Bucky frowned down at her hands. “I’m fine,” she repeated quietly. 

“I can....” the man looked as if he wished he weren’t about to say something. “I can give you fare for a ride.” 

Bucky’s knees gave way. She was not a fainter. She was absolutely not fainting. Her body just betrayed her momentarily, is all. Her eyes fluttered twice when she hit the floor, but Bucky was a fighter.

The man rushed to her side. “Miss, I can bring you to a room, let you rest a spell, until you get your senses back about you.” He put a gentle hand under her elbow. 

“No, no, thank you.” Bucky clasped her hand over his and let him pull her up. “But I thank you quite kindly for your offer of fare. You see, I’m visiting from New York, and I’m afraid I don’t have much,” she paused, her face burning red with shame. “I will accept your kind offer with a glad heart,” she finished. Her mama would have been proud of her fancy manners. 

_____________________

Saint Elizabeth’s, according to the wooden sign by the entrance to the long drive, was an asylum for the mentally insane. Over their lunch yesterday Djuna mentioned that Alice Paul had been sent from jail to an asylum. Possibly this asylum. Bucky’s bones practically vibrated with a sureness that Eve must be here.

“Wait here, please,” Bucky said to the cab driver as she stared up at the hulking red brick building. She stepped out of the motorcar, its frame rattled with her movements. 

She patted her short curls before crossing the threshold. The asylum was not unpleasant. The foyer was quiet, paneled with dark wood, a carpet muffled footsteps. A man in a crisp white apron approached her. 

Bucky squared her shoulders. “I’m here for Eve Rogers.” Simple, direct. She looked him in the eye with a face that dared him to argue. 

“I’m not supposed to…” he hesitated. 

Bucky saw the signs above two corridors branching off from the foyer, one read women’s wing, the other, men’s wing. Bucky brushed past him and set off down the women’s wing, leaving the man sputtering several paces behind her. 

“Miss!” he called. “Miss, you can’t!” He sighed and jogged a few steps to fall in beside her. “You can’t disturb the patients. Their constitutions are fragile. I will escort you to the visiting room and tell Doctor Watson you’re here for a Miss Rogers.” 

“Do you know where she is?” Bucky grabbed his arm with an iron grip. 

“I don’t know who she is. I work in the men’s wing.” He inclined his head in the opposite direction. 

“I will not wait in a visiting room. I’m taking her home.” 

Bucky paused in each doorway, cast a searching look around each room, and moved along as each room proved a disappointment. 

As she ventured further into the hospital, the rooms became plainer, cherrywood furniture giving way to iron beds and cane chairs. She heard voices raised in alarm several rooms away, the sound of a struggle. A wave of dizziness rushed through her, but she held steady to her unwilling partner’s arm and forced a deep breath into her lungs. 

A muffled scream, followed by a scuffle of feet and the sound of fists hitting flesh, punctured the uneasy peace of the women’s wing. Bucky reeled in the doorway of a room. The room held two beds with stained mattresses and no sheets, a metal gurney thankfully devoid of an occupant at the moment, and a cluster of people huddled in a circle. A nurse in a dark blue dress held a funnel attached to a long skinny tube at chest height; she was pouring something from a pitcher into it. The tube led to something - someone - in the midst of the huddle. A wail pierced the air. Bucky froze for three long, awful seconds. It was Eve’s voice, hoarse from screaming. 

Bucky growled like an animal as she tore between the nurses and doctors, shoving them out of the way. Eve was pinned in the arms of a man—not an exceptionally large one; Eve was tiny enough to be immobilized by most any man. The tube had been snaked into her nostril. Her face was scrunched in pain, and there were five fresh bruises blossoming on her skin. Eve opened her eyes at the sound of Bucky’s approach. Her eyes were filled with terror, but she tried to shake her head, to make Bucky stop. Bucky wrenched the tube out of her, wincing as she knew it had to hurt as much coming out as it had going in. 

“Monsters!” she spat, pushing at the man who held Eve. She felt someone try to grab her arm, but she shook them off like flies at a picnic. Powered by rage and adrenaline, Bucky gathered Eve in her arms, hooking the other woman’s arms around her neck and hoisting her like a bride. 

Shouts filled the air around them, but Bucky stalked down the wing with murder in her eyes and her own blood pounding in her ears. She walked straight out of the asylum without a single glance behind her, _let them come for her_ , she thought, _let them try_. 

The car was still outside, waiting as promised. The man at Columbia Hospital must have paid well. Bucky placed Eve gently in the car and pulled the door shut behind them. 

“Where to, miss?” the driver asked. 

Bucky looked at Eve, her heart breaking. Eve was curled in on herself, trying to hide her injuries, to no avail. “Union Station,” she said. They would leave D.C. behind and never come back. 

______________________

_September, 1917_

“You don’t have to treat me with kid gloves.” Eve looked sullenly up through her disheveled hair. She was on her knees scrubbing the floor clean. Her brown skirt was rucked up around her waist, held in place with an old bootlace tied around her waist. 

Bucky tilted her head and struggled to keep annoyance from her face. She failed. “It’s not kid gloves. _God_. It’s just, who’s gonna see our floor anyway, it’s gotta be spit shined now, when you’re still healing?” 

“It’s been a month.” Eve frowned and bent her head to focus on the spot she had been scrubbing like it mortally offended her. 

Bucky sat heavily on their worn sofa. She unpinned her hat and rested it on the sewing basket. “I know, darling. I know you’re giving yourself fits wanting to get back out there, feeling useless here. You should go to the meeting tomorrow.” She’d seen the flyer that had been crumpled in a ball on the table yesterday. A meeting on Pierrepont Street, the Brooklyn Women’s Suffrage Organization. It wasn’t like she didn’t want Eve going to the meetings anymore. It wasn’t like Bucky would ever try to stop her from doing something she wanted. It was just that Bucky’s heart clenched with terror when she thought about Eve enduring prison, or worse, again. 

“You won’t be sore?” Eve stopped scrubbing, sat up on her heels and gave Bucky a heartbreakingly hopeful look. Her face was mostly big wide eyes, shining up like Bucky’d given her damn present. 

Bucky closed her eyes for a second. She let out a mirthless laugh. “I won’t be sore. I haven’t _been_ sore. I’ve been…” she floundered for words. “You don’t know what it was like, trying to find you, and then seeing you-” she bent her head to her hands, braced on her knees. “I don’t know if I can handle that again,” she said, her words muffled by her hands. “I’m not as strong as you are.” 

She felt Eve nestle up next to her on the sofa. A small hand wormed its way between Bucky’s arms, pulled her hands away from her face. “You’re the strongest woman I know, Jane Barnes.” Eve’s hand squeezed her left hand. 

Bucky scoffed. “You sweet talkin’ me, Rogers?” 

“I sure hope so.” Eve’s lips were a whisper away from Bucky’s ear. “Is it working?” 

“Maybe.” 

“I guess I’ll have to try harder.” Eve’s breath was hot on her neck. Bucky shivered. She wanted to pull Eve in close, but the anticipation sparked her nerves and made her want to tease it out forever. 

Bucky twined a long lock of blonde hair around one finger. “You might hafta try real hard.” She turned so their faces were almost touching. Blue eyes locked with gray eyes, lips parted in mirror images. It only took a twitch of muscle to close the distance. Bucky felt a heady buzz when their lips touched, then melted like hot butter when Eve licked into her mouth. Eve nibbled on Bucky’s lower lip, and smiled into the kiss when that drew a helpless mewl from Bucky. 

“Yeah, you sure aren’t falling for my charms at all,” Eve giggled into the soft spot under Bucky’s jaw. She nipped a quick kiss there and swung her body around to straddle Bucky’s lap. She spread her thighs wide, her knees pressed into Bucky’s hips. Her skirt was still tied up, all that fabric bunched up around her waist. 

“Oh, god, Eve, I gotta get my hands on you.” Bucky’s face flamed at her own words. She let her head fall back against the sofa. Without looking, she slid her hands under Eve’s shirt, her fingers boldly moving up until they circled Eve’s breasts, soft and and full in her hands. Eve leaned into her touch. 

“Buck, look at me.” Bucky raised her head, met Eve’s insistent gaze. “I love you.” Eve groaned as Bucky toyed with her nipples, running the pads of her fingers over the tiny bumps of her areolas. “Stop distracting me, I’m bein’ heartfelt here.” Eve leveled Bucky with a simple, straightforward look. “I don’t ever want to do anything that causes you pain.” 

“Then you know that seeing you moping around feeling like half the woman you can be isn’t something I can live with.” Bucky paused her ministrations to pull Eve closer. “I love you, too.” She kissed Eve deep and slow, spreading her hands on either side of her body. “Guess we’ll just have to look out for each other.”

Eve ran her hands through Bucky’s hair, trailed down her face and neck, and paused over her shirt. “Think this will have to go,” she murmured as she flicked open each button. Bucky drew in a shaky breath as Eve cupped her breasts, spreading her fingers wide but still not able to hold all of Bucky in each palm. 

“Please,” Bucky panted, shameless. Arousal burned hot through her. She was so slick she could swear she was soaking through to the sofa. 

“Beg me for it.” Eve’s breath tickled her ear. “Beg and I’ll take such good care of you.” 

Christ. Bucky almost fell apart right then. She groaned, her nipples impossibly hard in Eve’s palms, her belly aching and yearning. “I’m going to die if you don’t touch me.” Eve rolled her hips, rubbing herself on Bucky’s leg. “Ah, please, Eve, please, I need you.” 

Hands fell away from Bucky’s breasts, the light weight of Eve’s body raised off her. Bucky sat on the sofa, chest heaving, her shirt pulled half off her body, her skirt bunched between her thighs. Her skin tingled, she thought she might just go mad from the wanting. 

Eve watched her with half-lidded eyes as she stripped out of her own shirt and pulled off her skirt. She untied her drawers and let them pool around her ankles. Naked lust pinked her skin. She liked to pretend that Bucky didn’t drive her equally as wild with desire, but her ribcage fluttered with fast breath and pounding pulse. 

“My beautiful Buck,” Eve crooned, tugging Bucky’s skirt off. She traced her lips gently up the delicate pale skin of Bucky’s inner thighs. Her fingers reached up and coaxed Bucky’s shirt the rest of the way off. Bucky huffed an impatient breath. She reached down and smoothed Eve’s golden hair, before grabbing a fistful of it and pulling it up and off her slender neck. She liked to watch Eve work when her generous mouth kissed its way north. 

Eve nuzzled her nose up to the crease of Bucky’s thigh. She hummed a satisfied little sound. Bucky felt electric. Her senses sizzled, she almost couldn’t bear how painfully aroused she was. Then the tip of Eve’s tongue dipped in and lightly touched the small nub above Bucky’s entrance. Bucky let out a shout, covered her face with her hands, and practically sobbed an incoherent string of pleas. 

Eve ran her tongue along Bucky’s slick folds, then licked long strokes deep into her. Bucky’s hips rose clear off the sofa. She wouldn’t last long under this assault. 

“God, Eve, that’s so good,” She groaned, low and desperate. Eve licked up to her clit, sucked on it with insistent pulses. Bucky was dripping, she could see the shine of her wetness on the tip of Eve’s nose. 

Eve looked up and paused for a moment to give Bucky a smile. Her blue eyes flashed a challenge. “I’m not ready for you to come yet.” She gave Bucky one last, slow lick, then levered up to her feet. She pulled on Bucky’s hand. “I want you on the bed.” 

Bucky’s knees were weak as a newborn foal’s. She moaned mournfully, “Aw, Eve, no, I can’t.” 

“If you want me to finish, you’ll find a way.” Once she got a bee in her bonnet, there was no convincing her otherwise. She crossed the few steps to the bed and lay down. Eve’s fingers traced lazy circles on her own body. “C’mon Buck, I know my clever girl can make her way to me.” She widened her eyes in the wickedest parody of innocence Bucky’d ever seen. “Or should I take care of myself alone?” Her hand wandered low. 

Bucky sucked in a breath. She’d never backed down from an Eve Rogers dare, she wasn’t about to start now. She raised an eyebrow and slid down off the sofa. It wasn’t far, and Bucky was too close to the edge to spare it a thought. She crawled on hands and knees to the bed, eyes locked with Eve’s. Something hot and dark curled up her spine when Eve bit her lip. 

“That’s my girl,” Eve breathed, barely audible. She shifted to make room on the bed, eyes still transfixed on Bucky’s movements. 

Bucky pulled up onto the bed. She stroked a hand lightly down Eve’s body, from the soft curve of her neck down to the dip of her bellybutton. Eve’s hand was motionless over her mound, Bucky placed her own hand over Eve’s and pushed their fingers in, together. 

“Oh,” Eve gasped. 

“Have I finally shocked you beyond words?” Bucky’s voice was husky. She could barely believe herself at that moment. She pushed their fingers harder, just to hear Eve make that little sound again. She was tight and so hot, and it made Bucky almost lose her mind to hear all the sounds Eve made as their fingers fucked a steady rhythm in her.

Eve raised her head and captured Bucky’s mouth in a kiss. They kissed long and deep, working their fingers in and out of Eve until her whole body arched, tight as a bowstring. Eve’s breasts pushed into Bucky’s, Bucky was still over sensitive and balanced on a knife’s edge. They moaned into each other’s mouths. Eve was blazing and wet and shaking with wanting. Bucky wanted to tease it out longer, but she was selfish and couldn’t get enough of Eve’s body coming around her, she wanted it more than she wanted her own release. She broke their kiss to lick a nipple, took it gently between her teeth, just a hint of roughness in the touch. 

That was enough to ignite Eve. She bit down on the fleshy part of her hand, stifling her scream. Bucky felt her orgasm pulse around their fingers. “You’re perfect. So beautiful. I love you so much,” Bucky mumbled against Eve’s neck, feeling unmoored and almost senseless. 

Eve took some moments to come back to herself. Her teeth had left impressions on her hand, small crescents that Bucky feathered kisses over until they faded. 

Bucky’s body still hummed with unsatisfied need. Eve blinked sleepily at her. “Now, where were we?” 

Eve wiggled down Bucky’s body until she was wedged with her face in Bucky’s sex. Bucky was a live wire. It took three licks and one finger playing languidly around her entrance for her to explode. Bucky came silently, so hard she saw stars behind her eyelids. 

She gasped quietly as she unwound from the high. Eve rested her head on Bucky’s stomach, eyes closed and a smile on her face. Bucky looked up at the ceiling and ran her hands over Eve’s golden hair. For the first time since they returned from Washington, she felt like they were moving forward and their lives would be whole again. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Endless gratitude to [Tenillypo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Tenillypo/pseuds/Tenillypo) for her amazing beta skills.
> 
> I have two or three more chapters to this story in mind, so if you liked it, stay tuned! 
> 
> History notes: 
> 
> Apologies to Lucy Branham's mother, Lucy Fisher Gwynne Branham, who was actually a kick-ass suffragette like her daughter. 
> 
> Until the 1930's, women's underpants were crotchless. My half-hearted research on the subject yielded no answers about why they didn't bother adding a scrap more fabric to make their underpants actually useful, but, well, *The more you know*


End file.
